


Only the Table Gets Laid

by ProseApothecary



Category: Crashing (UK TV)
Genre: Asexual Relationship, Basically the scene where Lulu and Anthony repeat "Kate's a lesbian" at each other, F/F, Fluff and a smidge of angst, M/M, She's also asexual because I thought that was where they were going with her character, except it's just me telling myself that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-28 04:22:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20772452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProseApothecary/pseuds/ProseApothecary
Summary: Kate may have to ban Sam from planning his own birthday parties.





	Only the Table Gets Laid

“Sam,” says Kate, ducking down behind his shoulder, “that woman just smiled at me.”

Sam gives her a sceptical look. “Which one?”

“Green eyes. Black hair. Purple dress”

“Relax,” Sam says, “she’s probably checking me out.”

“Oh God. Why did I agree to this?”

“It’s my birthday. We get to go wherever _I_ want.”

“So diplomatic,” Fred says.

Sam turns to him. “Would you rather go to a straight bar?”

Fred shrugs.

Sam rolls his eyes and points to the dance floor. “Anthony and Lulu seem to be fitting in just fine. Just relax, Kate. Not every lesbian wants to have sex with you.”

Right on cue, the green-eyed woman comes up to the bar to join them.

“Ok,” Sam says, “maybe this lesbian wants to-_Ow. Fred._”

“Hi. Is this seat taken?”

Sam’s words still ringing in her head. It’s the only explanation for why her brain would betray her, why as soon as she opens her mouth, “I don’t want to have sex,” comes out.

“Jesus,” Sam says, not at all quietly.

“Thank God,” the woman says, looking calm and a little bemused, “the bathrooms here are _not _pleasant.”

She sits down on the stool next to Kate. “Can I get a chicken wing platter?” she asks the barman.

Kate ponders whether the disco ball might fall directly on her, putting her out of her misery.

The woman’s plate arrives and she looks to Kate. “Do you want some?”

“Um,” says Kate.

“They come free of obligation. I just don’t think I can finish eight chicken wings.”

“It’s not that. I just…can’t eat finger food? Especially in front of people.”

“Huh,” says the woman, as if it’s an interesting quirk and not proof that Kate is definitely abnormal. “I have an aunt who has to cut the crusts off of every sandwich.”

“Your aunt sounds like a sensible woman.”

The woman laughs, soft and sweet. Not a lot of people find her funny. Anthony did, although she was never really sure if he was laughing at her or with her. Either way, she thinks it’s one of the reasons she stuck around so long.

“I’m Kate, by the way,” she adds. This woman already knows half of her psychosocial issues, why not throw her name into the mix?

“Fatima.”

Sam leans over, a few minutes later and a few shots drunker. “We’re heading off. You coming?”

Kate looks over at Lulu and Anthony, pressed close on the dance floor. They’re probably going to be like that all the way home.

“I think I’ll stay here.” She turns to Fatima. “If that’s ok?”

Fatima smiles. “Sure.”

Sam’s eyes go all wide, but he’s not going to make a big deal of it right here, right now. Kate expects he’s storing it up.

She’s right.

“So. Brunch.”

“Yes.”

“Also known as eating out.”

“Sam.” says Fred.

“What?” says Sam defensively. “As her friend, I’d like to know whether Kate’s ordering off-menu now.”

“I usually get Eggs Benedict,” Kate says, because it’s fun being obtuse whenever Sam gets like this.

“_Kate_,” Sam whines. “Don’t make me quote _The Room_ at you.”

“I don’t know what that mea-“

“How’s your sex life?”

“Non-existent.”

Sam opens his mouth like he’s about to start a tirade, or a whole new line of questioning, so Fred puts a hand on his knee and says. “Is that what you want?”

No one’s ever really asked, but Fred is so much more quietly intuitive than anyone gives him credit for. It takes Kate a few seconds to respond

“I want to be with someone.”

“You can still be with someone,” Fred says, and he looks so upset on her behalf that Kate feels like she’s supposed to be comforting him.

Instead, she says, “You are _way_ too nice for Sam.”

The smile Fred gives her is nice, but really, the cushion Sam throws at her is much more satisfying.

And, all in all, she feels just a little readier for this.

Fatima’s easy to spot, in a floor-length white summer dress. Kate is wearing jeans. She feels a little underdressed, but Fatima smiles as soon as she sees her.

“Hi,” says Kate, slipping into a seat opposite her. “I think we should talk.”

“That is usually what people do on a date.” Fatima says, eating a breadstick.

“Um,” says Kate. “Is this a date?”

“If you’d like,” says Fatima, as if it’s that simple.

“Well,” says Kate, “I think I would. Like that.”

Fatima smiles.

“But uh…” she becomes very aware that they’re in a public place. “I meant what I said. When we first met.”

“Thank God,” says Fatima, “the bathrooms here are even worse than the ones at the Columbia.”

Kate blinks.

“Do you want fajitas for the table?”

“I…what?”

“Tortillas?” says Fatima helpfully, “with meat inside?”

“…Yes please,” says Kate, then remembers, “only, can you ask for-”

“Cutlery,” says Fatima. “No finger food. I remember.”

“Right. Listen, what I was saying, I’m not sure you understood-”

“I get it,” says Fatima. “You’re a fan of forks, not fu-”

Kate coughs rather loudly. “Yes, well, there are _children_ here, so-”

Fatima tilts her head and smiles at her, with a fond sort of bemusement.

Kate tries again. “…Are you sure you’re alright with this?”

“You eating a burrito with a knife and fork? Not at all. But I’ll live.”

“Ok,” says Kate, trying to look exasperated and skating dangerously close to pleased.

The waiter approaches their table.

“Could we get the fajita platter, please?” Fatima asks. “And an obscene amount of cutlery.”

“One pair of cutlery,” says Kate, “thanks.”

“I thought maybe you needed the full set,” Fatima says when the waiter leaves. “You know, bread knife for the tortilla, salad fork for the lettuce-”

“You’re about to eat a fajita. With your hands. In a white dress. You’re going to wish you had that salad fork.”

Fatima grins. “More fun that way.”

“Yes, well. I’m not really fun.”

“Oh, I beg to differ.”

Kate can feel herself flush. She can’t remember the last time that happened on a date.

Ironic, really.

That today, of all days, is full of first times.


End file.
